Splinters
by Reliquary
Summary: Years after the Sith won the Battle of the Star Forge, the hour of the final conflict is at hand. The fate of the galaxy hangs in the balance. But will absolute victory be worth the price? AU, DS.
1. Echoes

**AN: **This story is what I imagine would eventually happen if one chose the dark side path in KotOR. Chapters will be short. Naturally, this is AU.

If you would be so kind as to leave a review, I would very much appreciate it :)

I do not own KotOR. That would be kind of cool, but I don't. In case anyone was wondering.

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><p><em>Bastila<em>

I find hyperspace to be peaceful.

The steady humming of the engines, the pulsing swirl outside the viewports…when I focus on these, I can rest. I can let my awareness drift across the ship, brushing each mind like a soft breeze. They move among themselves, going about their endless tasks, their thoughts calm and collected. When we arrive at our destination, those thoughts will boil over with determination and confusion, anger and fear, but for now, they are tranquil.

My thoughts turn to the emptiness outside. The walls of the ship seem a poor shield against oblivion, the light of the lives within a small candle in the depths of the dark.

Sometimes, in my dreams, I see the Jedi whom I have killed standing before me, arrayed within the void. Their eyes bore into me, accusing.

_This is what awaits you, Bastila_, they whisper. _You condemned us to eternity in the darkness. Your fate will be no different in the end. _

The promise of the dark side is infinite. After only a few short years, with Darth Revan to lead us, the Sith are on the brink of conquering the galaxy. Surely this, if nothing else, speaks of the power within the night.

Despite this, some small part of me has always been afraid of the dark. It is to this part that the dead speak in my nightmares. It is this part that welcomes hyperspace, and the brief peace it brings before the fighting begins again.

The hiss of the cabin door sliding open interrupts my meditations. The Force suddenly surges with shadows as cold as the void outside, and I know that it is _him_.

Out of instinct, and perhaps some misguided shred of hope, I reach out towards the Force bond between us, searching for some feeling, some emotion—I don't even know what I am looking for.

It doesn't matter; while once I could feel the fires of his conviction, of his passion—for war, for _me_—those sentiments are gone now.

All that remains are echoes.


	2. Fire

_Revan_

She was beautiful, once.

I would be a fool to think that she would stay untainted by the dark side's touch. All power comes with a price, and she was more than willing to pay whatever was necessary.

Bastila opens her eyes when I enter the room. How long have those irises been a harsh citrine instead of soft gray? I can't remember anymore. Mostly I wonder how I can still care.

"We'll be arriving shortly," I say. I can't afford such thoughts now. This battle will decide the fate of the galaxy. There is no time to be sentimental over things long resolved. "Are you ready?" I feel compelled to add.

"Of course, Master."

She has played the part of loyal apprentice for years. She has never shown any ambition to rise above her current station, never plotted against me in secret, never cultivated her own faction of followers—or, if she has, she has been so discreet that her machinations have escaped even my notice.

I wonder when she will turn against me. I know that she will someday, for it is the nature of the Sith to betray one another. But, then again…there is the matter of our Force bond. If one of us dies, the backlash will probably kill the other. Perhaps that is why she has made no move to take my place; she is afraid that she will not survive.

Her face is expressionless, but in the Force, she is a storm of fire and darkness. Standing in the same room as that storm reminds me, as nothing else can, of my own mortality, and it is not pleasant.

Nodding to her, I swiftly depart.


	3. Lights

**AN:** The interpretation of battle meditation mentioned here is entirely my own. I don't think SW canon mentions anywhere _exactly _how it works.

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><p><em>Bastila<em>

When he is gone, light and air return.

Taking several deep breaths to clear my mind of any lingering apprehension, I prepare to use my battle meditation. I close my eyes, and _wake up_.

My mind spreads out across the psyches of thousands of beings like a droplet of ink fallen into a bowl of water. All their thoughts and emotions clamor in my consciousness simultaneously, yet I can single out each one while hearing all the others.

If there were a god in this vast and empty universe, surely they would feel like this.

I can feel the tensions running high; so much hinges on the outcome of this battle. Dampening down the crew's rising fears and heightening their excitement, their anticipation, takes as little effort as breathing. I have fought with these beings for years, and I know their minds well.

As we draw ever closer to our destination, I do my best not to become too complacent. Battle meditation is a dangerous tool, both to those upon whom it is used, and to the one who wields it. With my awareness spread out like this, connected to my own consciousness by a tenuous thread, there is always the danger that I will go too far, and the thread will simply _snap_.

So I am careful. I resist the urge to expand my sphere of awareness further than I need to. I do not risk myself recklessly, for I know that without my ability, the possibility of a Sith victory will become far more remote.

A spike of adrenaline from the minds of the crew tell me that we have arrived. I am distantly aware of the ship jerking as we leave hyperspace, of sirens beginning to blare and tactical displays coming to life in the cabin where I sit.

I do not need the displays; my mind creates a far clearer image of the battle than technology ever could.

Clusters of bright lights pulsing with tension are the Sith ships. The smaller lights that dart around them are our starfighters. I can feel their simmering fear, their rising anger, and above all, their grim determination to see this battle won no matter what the cost.

All around us are the Republic forces. The lights of their minds seem just the same as those of the Sith, but I can feel the difference.

They're afraid.

They're thinking that the Sith have swept across the galaxy like wildfire, leaving only desolation in their wake. They're wondering if they can ever be stopped, and even if they could be, would the galaxy ever recover?

This is the Republic's final stand.


	4. Precipice

_Revan_

I have been waiting a long time for this.

The Republic stands teetering on the edge of a precipice. One simple push, and it will fall. This battle will be that push. After today, the galaxy will have a new order.

The Republic ships swarm and scramble like insects. Their numbers have been steadily worn away by years of conflict. They have been forced to drag up ancient warships that should have been scrapped years ago, refit passenger liners and freighters.

This motley collection of vessels is quite a contrast to my own fleet. The Star Forge produces a steady stream of ships, though not as many as it once did. I don't like to rely too heavily on the Star Forge. I never have.

I don't trust it.

Oh, it is a useful tool, to be sure, but it is a tool that can cut both ways. Like any great power, it is as dangerous to its wielder as it is to those against whom its might is directed. Sometimes I imagine that I can hear the ancient space station whispering to me as I walk its halls. _For all your power, you are only mortal. A time will come when you must wither and die, but I am eternal… _

But here, in the skies above Coruscant, glorious capital of the Republic, the Star Forge's power is shown only through the ships shaped within its depths. Here, the only enemies are ones that I can fight.

What will I do, I wonder, when it is over? When there are no more enemies, no more battles… Victory is meaningless if what comes after is worse than the conflict itself.

But there is no time for such thoughts. There is only the battle.

Light against dark, with the fate of the galaxy hanging in the balance.

How appropriate.


	5. Abyss

_Bastila_

Coruscant is a glimmering jewel of life, hanging suspended against the darkness of space. Though battle rages all around me, in my mind's eye all is peaceful. The lights of lives dance and swirl around one another, until one by one they wink out.

It is beautiful.

_This _is true power, this watching, this awareness. It is power beyond anything I ever dreamed of as a Jedi. Surely this is why the Jedi sought to control me, to keep my full potential chained and dormant; surely, if they knew that such power could be mine, then they feared me.

But none of that matters now. The Jedi are broken, the Republic is doomed. The Sith shall bring order to the galaxy, and usher in an age of glory beyond compare!

Our forces seem to be faring well enough against the Republic's last-ditch defense. I can divert some of my attention from the immediate battle and survey the planet itself.

The multitudes of lives on the surface blaze like a beacon in my mental vision. I can feel a chaotic torrent of emotions pouring outwards from those minds, though the predominant tone seems to be fear.

As debris rains through the planet's atmosphere, it is inevitable that some pieces will make contact with the surface. Terror surges, followed by pain…and lights go out.

And then, I sense it: a point of calm amidst the chaos, the eye of the hurricane. A candle in the darkness.

The Jedi Temple.

Over the course of the war, the Jedi have been steadily hunted down. Those who would not swear allegiance to the new order were dealt with swiftly and mercilessly. Those that remain have gathered at the Temple for one last stand. Their combined auras of light send ripples through the Force.

Instinctively, I move away from the light, withdrawing my mind from the Temple as I would withdraw my hand from a hot surface. I return my full attention to the battle, looking forward to seeing that great light extinguished.

A sudden blast shakes my mental shields, and for an instant I lose control of my battle meditation. Hastily clamping back down on the fleet, I search for my opponent. Only a Jedi trained in battle meditation could have shaken my control in such a way.

The Jedi is easily found—so easily, in fact, that I wonder why I didn't sense that distinctive presence before. On one of the Republic command ships, I see the light of the Force in a being. She is young, probably not yet a full Knight, but her gift is strong. Rather like me in that sense. For a moment I wonder who she is, if I knew her—and then battle is joined on a level beyond the tangle of starships, as we engage in a contest of wills for control of the fleet.

We each struggle to overwhelm the other's defenses, to break their control over the ships. The Jedi is powerful, but she is young and inexperienced. In the end, she is the one to fall. I imagine her suddenly lifeless body pitching forward, her face drained of color, blood trickling from beneath closed eyelids—the symptoms of mental exhaustion. In the end, the darkness wins, as I know it must, as I know that sunset follows each day.

But even as the Jedi falls, a last burst of power crashes against my shields. I had thought she was defeated; I was unprepared for such an assault. My hold on the fleet evaporates, and my mental awareness is sent careening inward—

Blackness surrounds me, darkness deeper than the depths of night. The void envelops me, an ocean of nothingness. I look around for something, anything, anything to fill the emptiness. But there is nothing.

I am alone in the abyss.


	6. Victory

_Revan_

I sense the Jedi challenge Bastila, and the momentary slip in my apprentice's control. Only for a moment—she may be overconfident sometimes, but she is very good at what she does. It would be nice not to have to kill her. She's very useful.

That small, sentimental part of me that hasn't yet been eradicated reminds me that I should care about her for more than her ability… It is a small thought, quickly dismissed. I am the Dark Lord of the Sith; I can't _afford _to care. If there's one thing that the Jedi and the Sith agree on, it's that attachment is a sentiment best avoided.

Bastila continues to battle the Jedi for mental dominance over the ships. I wonder who they found who is strong enough to put up a fight against her? Battle meditation is not a common gift, after all.

My fleet seems to be managing well enough despite Bastila's attention being diverted elsewhere. They have been well-trained. Coruscant will be ours, and the Republic will fall. As soon as my ships have broken through the Republic defense, the Jedi Temple will be obliterated by a hail of bombs. Not a stone will be left standing by the time it is over.

It is a pity that the Jedi's vast Archives will be destroyed with the Temple, but sometimes sacrifices must be made. It's a lesson that I have endeavored to teach time and again, with varying degrees of success.

Still, I am looking forward to seeing the Temple fall. It seems that in the end, victory is mine.


	7. Power

_Bastila_

Sudden panic clouds my mind—_Fear is power Bastila, you know this, use it_—and my only thought is to escape this nightmare, to claw my way to the surface of this terrible sea of infinity in which I am drowning. For a moment, it seems that I will be trapped in the darkness forever—but my will prevails and I am thrown out of the depths of my own mind and back into reality.

I was distracted only for a moment, but it seems to have proven costly. The Sith forces have sustained heavy casualties. Perhaps they've become too reliant on me, if a single slip has such a grave impact. I remember a time when such a brief loss of concentration wouldn't have mattered.

Revan will be angry with me. It is no more than I deserve. I should have been prepared for opposition. I was too complacent, too confident that the power of the dark side would let me accomplish anything—what am I thinking? _Why _am I thinking these things?

I am beginning to grow angry. That is good. The power burns within me, and I reach out with my mind. My awareness spreads, encompassing the fleet, the planet…

The stars beyond do not seem so distant now. Recklessly, I reach for them, spurred on by the dark power seething through my veins, searing away the memory of that horrible, empty void…

I am riding the crest of an immense, exhilarating wave of power. I know in the depths of my mind that at some point the wave must break, but I don't care, I don't care, the power is burning like a star inside my soul and I am a god—

For one beautiful, perfect moment, time crystallizes and I see everything.

Then the universe implodes around me.

And there is nothing.


	8. Splinters

_Revan_

A tremor in the Force tells me that Bastila has triumphed over her Jedi opponent. Then her control suddenly fails completely! The fleet reels in the absence of her influence, and the Republic takes advantage of the stumble.

Damn Bastila! What _happened_?

A sudden burst of terror surges through our Force bond, strong than I had thought any emotion could be conveyed through that medium. Then the feeling dissipates as quickly as it had come as Bastila regains control.

I'll have to ask her about this incident once this is all over. I would very much like to know what happened—

Pain, white-hot and blinding, explodes inside my head, obliterating all sense of time and space. After an eternal, agonizing moment, my vision finally clears to reveal several officers looking at me with concern. They're probably thinking that Lord Revan has gone mad, and I can hardly blame them. What the hell just happened to me?

Then I realize that Bastila's battle meditation has stopped. In fact, I can't even feel her presence on the ship.

A sudden feeling of unease washes over me, and I know instinctively that something has gone terribly wrong.

Brushing past the wide-eyed officers, I walk quickly down the corridors to Bastila's chamber. Twice I am forced to stop and clutch at the wall as a fresh wave of pain sends me reeling, my surroundings spinning wildly. At least with all the crew at their battle stations there is no one to witness my sudden weakness.

At last, I come to my destination. Punching in the door code, I stride into the room—and stop short.

I do not hear the door hiss shut behind me. I barely feel a new onslaught of pain. I have eyes only for Bastila.

She lies crumpled on the floor, her face frozen in an expression of exaltation. Her eyes, her beautiful gray eyes, are wide and blood shot. Fine rivulets of scarlet snake across her too-pale cheeks.

_She is gone_, whispers that treacherous voice inside my head. _She is gone, and now you are all alone. What will you do, Dark Lord of the Sith?_

I will continue on, as I always have. Whatever I may have felt for Bastila is irrelevant now. She is dead, and there is nothing that I can do about it. I'll have to find another apprentice, which shouldn't be too difficult; I have plenty of followers who would give anything for the honor of that position.

Kneeling down beside Bastila's still body, I carefully close her eyes. I wonder why they changed color? Surely she hadn't turned—had she?

It occurs to me that I will never know the answer to that question, that I will never know how she died, or why. It occurs to me that perhaps I did not know Bastila as well as I thought I did.

I used to understand her, when she was still a Jedi. Things were simpler, then. Saving the galaxy from Malak was not nearly so difficult as saving it from itself.

I will miss Bastila, I think. Perhaps it is a foolish attachment, a sign of weakness, but…

Looking down into her still face, I am reminded of the young Jedi who saved the life of her greatest enemy because she could not in good conscience stand back and let a fellow being die. She always had such strong convictions. When she believed in something, she did so with all her heart and soul.

Taking off a glove, I carefully wipe the blood from one cheek. It seems almost sacrilegious to do otherwise. Did I love her? I will never know.

The backlash from the shattered Force bond continues to persist, a thousand agonizing fragments lancing into my mind like daggers, like splinters…


End file.
